


In it for the long run

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Future Fic, Hotels, Love, M/M, Massage, Romance, Sugardaddy!Finch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold and John are going to use the time they have wisely, and with each other. In which John Reese chooses to let Harold Finch in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JinkyO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinkyO/gifts).



> The drabble called "Revelations" that was posted on tumblr was also written by me and was incorporated into this fic.
> 
> Cosy fandom time!

In the aftermath, after defeating Samaritan and its operatives mostly by Harold’s preparedness, luck, Root’s plans and a lot of bullets and hacking, both Harold and John dragged themselves away from the scene. Reese grabbed Harold’s hand tightly and they walked fast, listening to the sirens and the sounds of disaster behind them. Harold’s hands were cold, and his limp was worse than it had ever been in Reese’s memory, but Harold just kept going with a grim expression.  
Reese hurried towards the street and saw Harold’s town car in one of the parking spots and looked at the older man beside him, who took the keys from the inside pocket of his soot blackened suit jacket. John let go of Harold’s hand with a small pang of regret and took the keys from his friend’s hand.  
“Just in case we’d win, of course,” Harold said and got into the front seat as John started the car. “Miss Groves has informed me that she has found Miss Shaw and they are on their way to a hospital so that she can be treated and operated on.”  
“Good to hear that she is back,” John said and gripped the steering wheel, “what do we do next?”  
“Turn here,” Harold said, some of the shakiness of his voice fading, his fingertips brushing against the material of John’s jacket. This was not an order, but a request, and John felt strange when Harold looked at him as he turned, something tender in his expression.  
It was almost dark, but John could see that they were driving into a space that had several storage units. They stopped driving after a while and Harold got out and opened the unit with a small key. John followed him as Harold handed him two large suitcases and a large scarf. John wrapped the scarf around his neck, to hide the bruises. Martine had almost strangled him, but had been knocked out by Harold who had swung an old wood cane at her head. When Martine had woken up a few minutes later Root had been standing above her with a terrifying smile on her face.

Then the storage unit was closed and John followed Harold’s directions to the safe house, even if the directions were not strictly necessary. They parked and headed inside. John could feel the adrenaline fading from his body, replaced by bone-weariness. When he looked at Harold as the light from a streetlamp shone into the car as he drove, who had fallen asleep half way to the safe house John smiled to himself.  
Harold did not talk on their way up to the elevator. There were no jokes or observations. He just leaned on John, who took almost all of his weight, and hummed a song underneath his breath.  
It was only after Harold had sat down numbly on the large bed and taken off his expensive shoes and worn jacket and fallen asleep again even before his head hit the pillow, that John remembered what song it was. Harold had not asked for permission to sleep in John’s bed, he had just headed straight for it and was now snoring softly.  
John had heard the song years ago, in the car on his way home at dusk. It was a love song. He sat down on the other side of the bed and took off his shoes before falling asleep on top of the covers.

When John woke up the next day, it was to the sound of Bear jumping around the apartment with his new rope toy, wagging his tail enthusiastically, and the smell of coffee, toast and the gentle touch of Harold’s hand on his shoulder.  
“Good morning Mr.Reese,” Harold said, looking pleased.  
“Hello, Harold,” John managed, wincing at the pain in his back and trying to blink rapidly to wake up. “What time is it?”  
“A quarter past nine in the morning,” Harold replied evenly as Bear licked John’s ear to try to wake him up.   
“Is that the good kind of coffee?” asked John, sitting up and stretching his arms carefully, testing the muscles.  
“Indeed,” Harold replied, his ears turning slightly pink, „I recalled that this brand was your favorite and when I went to the store earlier to buy some groceries I picked it up. It is not the best reward I could give you-“  
“Thank you for the coffee, Harold,” said Reese, standing up and grinning at this partner. John walked towards the table where there was a steaming cup of coffee and took a large sip.  
Harold sat down at the dining room table and began typing rapidly.  
“We have a new number. Or more accurately, we have four new numbers,” Finch said, as Reese walked towards him and looked at the screen.  
“Rebecca Hills, 36, a florist and Mina Hathaway, 35, a musician, who both work independently, and then there is Adrian Fields, a former bodyguard and Vivian Williams, a nutritionist. They are all staying at the Lindgren Hotel, which is stationed some way away. I have taken the liberty of packing our bags and reserving us a room.”  
“You packed my bag?” John asked as he finished his coffee.  
“Yes, otherwise you would not bring any clothes with you, as I recall, only at toothbrush and several guns.”  
“Most of my suits were ruined by working two jobs, bullet wounds and bloodstains are not something they would approve of in a hotel like this,” John said, “I am not sure they would approve of me being inside it.”  
“That is why I bought you some new clothes, Mr. Reese. Your wardrobe as a police detective was very convincing, but it lacked certain finesse.”  
“Well, I missed your colorful ties and waistcoats, Harold,” said John, “I know that there was not a lot of room for creativity as a University Professor for such extravagances in clothing.”  
“If we hurry, we will be able to get breakfast at the hotel and take a good look at our Numbers,” Finch said, and they headed outside, John carrying the two suitcases.  
It was not until the drive to the hotel, after a restful sleep, that John began to relax and the idea that Samaritan and all its operatives were no longer a threat started to sink in.  
The drive was mostly silent, with Harold talking to Shaw on the phone about taking a walk with Bear in the park. They parked the car and went inside the hotel, which was small and made of red brick. The lobby was decorated with wooden furniture and green couches, along with a large statue. John looked around with the suitcases at his feet, habitually looking for danger.

Harold was standing in front of the reception desk, talking to the concierge with his usual formal tone. John could see him pay in cash and followed Harold when he started walking, too tired to ask any questions.  
They took the elevator up, Harold’s bad leg was shaking terribly and John put an arm around Harold’s shoulders, supporting him.  
“All our covers work again,” Harold explained, “but one has to be careful nonetheless.  
“Yes,” John said, and saw the tiny smile on Finch’s face at the approval in John’s voice.

It had been an exhausting day, an exhausting year, John thought, as he continued walking down the hotel corridor, dragging one suitcase and carrying the other. Harold strode in front of him, opening the door to the hotel room. John could see the beads of sweat on his partner’s forehead and the creases of pain around his eyes. John let out a breath, his grip on one of the suitcases loosening. Breathing had suddenly become difficult and Reese closed his eyes briefly.  
“Wait for me” John choked out, barely above a whisper.  
And Harold stopped walking and turned. His expression was unfathomably kind. And it hits John, just what he meant. His life had changed when he had not said these words in an airport that sometimes felt like it was from some other life. And now he has said it to Harold, who knew, down to the last detail, just what happened in that airport and its consequences.  
John closed his eyes, understanding that when he would open them, there would be no escape from his feelings showing on his face despite all his training. There would be no delicate balance, pretending that he did not cherish the man in front of him as much as he did, trying his best to make his awkward slip ups seem just like odd gestures.  
“Of course,” he heard Harold say, his voice clear as if there had never been any other answer. They continued walking, a fraction closer to each other than they had been before, their shoulders brushing with every step.  
“If there is an’ After’,” John said quietly, “offering his arm wordlessly to Harold as they stepped into the hotel room that was most likely a small suite, whose eyes looked slightly shiny behind his glasses, “I would like to spend it with you.”  
Harold does not answer right away. Instead he took John’s arm and they continued walking inside the room, closing the door securely. Some part of John mutters something about that a hotel room is not the best setting for a confession like this, but John does not care. They do not have time for searching for a wonderful, perfect moment.  
“Likewise, Mr. Reese,” Harold answered, looking up into John’s eyes. Harold stepped closer to him, their stomachs and chests touching. Harold’s hand shook slightly as John caressed his side gently. But before anything else could happen, a loud, angry scream was heard from the bottom floor, echoing around the building.  
“I think that is our cue to get to work, Harold,” Reese said, and stepped away from the older man.  
Harold nodded, a faint flush on his cheeks.  
The room was medium sized, with a large bathroom and a comfortable double bed. John nodded to himself as he put the bags down on the floor beside the bed, and Harold looked at him from the doorway.  
They headed downstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

The room in which breakfast was served was very spacious, and filled with tables with white cloths and comfortable looking chairs. At one side there was a counter where the food was served and at the other end of the room was a large table where coffee dispensers and kettles filled with hot water resided, along with porcelain cups and an astounding selection of teas and juices.  
The room was already half full and the sound of pleasant chatter could be heard outside the door.  
But before Harold and John could enter the room a man trudged past them, rudely crashing into John’s shoulder and cursing both of them loudly before continuing on his way.  
“Ah,” Harold said, “that would be one of our Numbers, Adrian Fields. As I understand, he is staying in the room next to Miss Williams. They were classmates in college and live in the same town, but otherwise I have not yet been able to connect them to each other further.”  
“I should stay with our new friend,” John replied, narrowing his eyes at the retreating figure.  
“Hm,” Harold muttered, „I do not think that will be strictly necessary, Mr. Reese. It appears that he has decided to go to sleep in the sofa over there. He just pulled a blanket over his face and punched a pillow. The rest of the Numbers are all in the breakfast area.”  
Reese looked at the man, who had gone still, lying on his back on the sofa, but was clearly breathing. Various staff members were also watching the man. Reese shrugged.

 

They went into the room ahead of them, Harold heading straight for the queue for the food, looking hopefully at a bowl of fresh fruit. John walked towards the drinks table, enjoying the cool breeze that stirred the curtains.  
“Miss Hathaway and Miss Hills are sitting together at a table,” Reese whispered into his earpiece, “what is the connection between them?”  
“Work, mainly,” Harold replied and put the bowl of fruit and a yogurt container on his tray, “they have worked together several times, mostly at weddings and they both go to the same swimming pool every week. It is most likely that they have been friends for several years, as I have seen absolutely no evidence of any animosity between them. They are both fans of the same television show and chat about it on Facebook.”  
“They seem to be good friends,” John said quietly as he poured himself a cup of strong coffee, “they sound happy, talking about how good the food here is.”  
“Well-“, Harold began, reaching out for a small raspberry studded scone, when he heard a loud cough. He turned around slightly, coming face to face with Miss Williams, who was looking aggravated. A hand was placed on his side.  
“Excuse me,” Harold said politely, stepping slightly out of the way in case he was in her way, so that she could reach the cheese slices and butter if she so desired. The aroma of freshly baked bread was almost unbearably delicious and Harold smiled.  
The hand stayed in place.  
“Are you sure that you can afford that?” she asked and glanced at Harold’s tray, which by now contained a bowl of fruit, strawberry yogurt and a spoon and a small pastry alongside some napkins.  
“Oh yes,” Harold said, furrowing his brow, “no worries, even though it is expensive my partner is also here just in case I do not have enough cash.”  
Reese looked up from placing his coffee cup and Harold’s mug of steaming Sencha green tea on a small table at the back of the room. Some of the guests were staring at the lady who had stopped the queue.  
“That is not what I meant,” Miss Williams said, in a matter of fact tone, “eating a pastry for breakfast is not a healthy choice, especially for a man like you.”  
Before Harold could reply, she squeezed his side slightly, smirking.  
The tips of Harold’s ears became pink, but when Miss Williams looked up she saw Reese standing by Harold’s side, glaring at her and placing his hand on Harold’s shoulder. She backed away, but made no move to apologize.  
Reese handed the cashier a wad of folded bills from his pocket and grabbed a plate with a toasted bagel with butter, cheese and a bit of marmalade. Harold saw that he slipped a bug into Williams’ pocket as they walked past her. He had already hacked into all her accounts by the time they had walked past two tables, holding his phone with one hand and a tray in the other. She had truly horrible security protocols.  
“What a nasty piece of work, that woman.” John said, “You look really nice, Finch, especially in that new green waistcoat. She is probably a perpetrator.”  
Finch was silent for a few moments, but spoke when he had put down the tray in his hands and sat down at their table.  
“I bought the pastry for us. I thought it would be nice to celebrate our victory by sharing it.”  
“Thanks, Harold,” said John, looking pleased. Harold nodded in response and took a sip of his tea with a small sigh.

 

When they had almost finished their meal, and Harold was putting the last spoonful of yogurt into his mouth while John brazenly stole some pieces of cut up apple from the small bowl of fruit, which was almost empty, a hot cup of coffee was suddenly thrown in the direction of Miss Hathaway and Miss Hills. They were now excitedly discussing the relationship development in the relationship between the protagonist and the main love interest as seen in the flowers that the couple in their favorite television show had given each other and did not notice anything unusual happening.  
The coffee cup never reached them as Reese had taken Harold’s tray off the table and used it as a shield so that the coffee cup landed on the tray and fell to the floor and broke. Some of the hot coffee spilled on Reese’s hair and face, and he grimaced.  
Harold saw Miss Williams look in the other direction, clearly trying to appear innocent as John explained that he was fine to every guest around him, and nodded to Harold as Miss Williams slipped out the door.  
Finch stood up and assured himself that John was in fact all right, and that Miss Hathaway and Miss Hills were just shocked and not harmed in any way before following John, who was already on his way out the door.  
“I will go upstairs and look into things,” Harold said as they reached the elevator, “I am sure I will find something that will help us.”  
“I’ll keep an eye on Fields and Williams,” John said, “I saw them ask the concierge where the main street was, so I suspect that they are going to go shopping or at least pretend to.”  
They parted ways.

Six hours later, Reese was still conducting surveillance.  
“Finally,” Reese breathed, “they are heading back to the hotel. They have been browsing in the same four shops for three hours and then Miss Williams met one of her clients out in the street. She spent some time shaming her client, a woman named Doreen, for eating the wedding cake at her own wedding.”  
Finch made a strange sound that Reese could only identify as something used to mask an angry remark.  
“How about Fields, what has he been up to besides doing some shopping?” asked Harold, and Reese could hear him typing, a reassuring and familiar sound.”According to your comments and my considerable research, it appears that these two are, if not an item, at least working together on something.”  
“He has been his usual hateful self,” Reese said, speeding up as he saw the two numbers enter the hotel without so much as glancing at the doorman.  
“Usual, Mister Reese?” asked Harold, and Reese could hear the surprise and curiosity in his friend’s voice.  
“I’ll explain when I come back to the hotel room. Williams said that she wanted to go to the nail salon next to the hotel after having dinner at the restaurant in the hotel and Fields said that he was going back to the hotel to rest before dinner. Williams said that she is going to join him.,” John said, “anything happen to Hills and Hathaway?”  
“No,” Harold said, “they just headed for the swimming pool on the ground floor of the hotel. They have spent the day working together as a common client was hosting a large art exhibit and have just gotten back.”  
“I think that we can call it a day, Finch,” said John, “as all the Numbers appear to be safe at the moment.”  
“Perhaps,” Harold said, “come upstairs, I must tell you of some very interesting things I found out when you were away.”  
“Already on my way,” said John, who was standing in the elevator.

When John came into the hotel room Harold was sitting at the small desk, looking dapper and in a good mood. There was a box of chocolates on the desk beside the laptop. Harold’s posture was rigid, and the bags beneath his eyes were dark. John could see that his back was hurting, as the older man would shift his position in the chair every twenty seconds, trying to get more comfortable.  
“Are those for me?” John asked, selecting a swirly piece and popping it into his mouth. The taste of dark chocolate and salted caramel was good, and John knew that this was the expensive kind, not the cheap milk chocolate and nut chocolates given out at social gatherings.  
“Indeed,” Harold replied, selecting one for himself, “the hotel sent it up as an apology for what happened at breakfast. They are rather good.”  
“Yeah,” John said, “Do you want to go down to the swimming pool and conduct surveillance on the florist and the musician, or should we just rest here?”  
“I…have not stepped into a swimming pool since I was able to manage without the wheelchair,” Harold admitted, “and I do not have swim trunks with me. I would…rather not go.”  
“Alright,” John said evenly, “I do not have any either, as far as I know. Besides, it will be nice to rest a bit for a change.”  
Harold nodded, and John could see him hacking into the security camera that overlooked the swimming pool and surrounding area. John took off his jacket and draped it over a chair before sitting down on the bed and stretched.  
There was a long silence and Reese continued staring at the wall, slumped over, for all that time as Harold typed. John breathed deeply, wishing Bear was here, playing with his new toy or snoring in his bed, wishing for a distraction.  
“I knew him, our Number, when I was a kid,” John said quietly, lying back on the pillows.”When I was thirteen, we had just moved to another house in another state because Mom had gotten a better paying job. I was playing basketball with some kids in the neighborhood and having lots of fun.”  
John could hear Harold stand up, he could hear the slight crack in his own voice.  
“There was this new boy, who had just moved there, like me. It was almost dark, and we were the only ones playing by then. Everyone else had gone home, but we had both finished our homework early. He fell down and hurt his hand, scarped it badly on the gravel on the ground, and we stopped playing.”  
Harold sat down beside John on the bed, and a hand was placed on top of John’s own hand, which had been kneading the fabric of the comforter.  
“There was a shed beside the area where there was the bit of concrete and gravel and the hoop,” John muttered, “and we sat down on the grass and leaned against it. He was really nice, and I helped him clean the wound with some water from the water I had left over from lunch in my water bottle, and he had some napkins in the pockets of his schoolbag. He was really nice…and he kissed me on the cheek, thanking me for helping him.”  
Harold lay down beside John, his thumb stroking in slow circles over John’s hand, and looked at the taller man, who could not tear his eyes away from the ceiling.  
“When I came home, Adrian Fields had told my parents all about that he had seen us sitting together, kissing. He was still standing in the doorway, when I was walking up the driveway. He grinned at me when I asked what he was doing at my house,” John said, and tried his best to keep his voice even, but he could hear his original accent creeping back into his voice, the accent of his childhood. “I was grounded for months for ‘not making a good impression’ and the parents of many of the kids in the neighborhood would not let them play with me or even talk to me. And every time I met him he would mock me and tell me he had been doing it, telling, for my own good.”  
“I am so sorry, John,” Harold said quietly, and John took his hand tentatively, as if he was crossing a very narrow bridge in the rain, as if this was something he had never dared to hope for.  
They lay there for a long time, holding hands, and John finally drifted off to sleep. He could feel Harold carefully draping a blanket over his form and taking off his shoes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, the massage and more coziness had to be moved to the next chapter.

John woke up to the sound of water and the smell of Harold’s expensive soap. The other side of the bed was still warm, John realized when he placed his hand there, checking if Harold was still lying beside him. Hope was a very powerful thing, John knew, but Harold was no longer there.  
When the tall man opened his eyes he saw Harold in the doorway of the bathroom, clearly just having finished showering, wearing a soft white robe and slippers. His hair was sticking up in all directions, still dripping wet and there were spots of moisture on his arms. Harold was not wearing his glasses, which were placed on the nightstand beside John. Harold smiled at John with narrowed eyes.

“I hope you had a pleasant nap, Mr. Reese,” Harold said, walking towards the bed. The shorter man was blushing faintly as he realized that John was looking at his bare legs and the silvering chest hair that was not hidden by his robe. “You look much better than when you arrived earlier.”  
“What time is it?” John asked, stretching on the bed.  
“It is only a quarter past eight in the evening. As it appears that our Numbers have all settled down for the evening in their rooms, I thought we might go out for dinner.”  
“Have you got any more information about the Numbers?” John said quietly as Harold began unfastening the belt on his robe a bit and ruffling his hair to get it to behave.  
“As it happens, I do,” Harold said and limped towards his laptop, taking the glasses from the nightstand on his way there and putting them on.  
“It appears that “Miss Hathaway and Miss Hills are, in addition to being good friends, also a couple. When I went downstairs when you were sleeping I saw them kissing each other in one of the hallways. I also found some very loving messages on their phones written to each other on their phones when I copied them.”  
“We know that Fields has a history of homophobia, and that he is most likely working with Williams,” John said.  
“Fields has never stopped bullying and downright abusing queer people according to what I have gather about him,” Harold said, his voice cold as he showed John several school files from high school and college.  
“He might go after Hills and Hathaway,” John began, but stopped talking when he heard a strange sound outside the door. He looked warily at the door, but as nothing happened in the next few seconds he looked back at Harold.  
“Yes, especially as Rebecca Hills just inherited her grandmother’s flower and gift shop, along with a good deal of antiques and money,” Harold said. “She worked at her grandmother’s shop when she was in high school, and learned a great deal from her if the reviews on Miss Hills’ work are to be believed. ”  
John nodded, looking away from Harold, who had taken an armful of clothing from a nearby chair and sat down heavily on the desk chair, pulling on his socks and trousers. 

John saw that his own clothes had been laid out on the bed beside him. He looked at the blue shirt, dark grey trousers and jacket and a silk tie. There were also striped socks and boxers on top of the pile.  
He had never seen those clothes before and raised his eyebrow at Harold, who just smiled at him.  
“It is important to be well dressed, Mr. Reese, as you know,” Harold said in a matter-of-fact tone, buttoning his shirt.  
“These clothes are so nice, I am a bit afraid of ruining them,” John said, “we haven’t had the money for this kind of luxury for some time.”  
“Well, I think it is high time we enjoy ourselves a bit,” Harold muttered as John began dressing, hastily dropping his wrinkled shirt on the bed. After a few minutes Harold straightened John’s tie and patted the lapels before slipping the keys into his pocket. John wondered if he had just seen appreciation in Harold’s eyes as the older man had stepped away from him, but the former spy shook his head.  
“I like the suit you are wearing,” John head himself saying, “it makes you look like an demanding CEO instead of an academic.”  
Harold snorted and stepped closer to Reese, who patted his shoulder companionably. John took a handgun from his suitcase just in case and offered Harold his arm.  
Harold took it wordlessly. 

They had reached the lobby when they heard the noise. John edged towards the noise, his footsteps inaudible on the thick carpet. Harold walked slowly behind him as the staff looked up from their work.  
Fields had never been known for being subtle and was standing, red-faced, in the middle of the breakfast room shouting at Rebecca Hills, who was holding a glass of water in her hand. Vivian Williams, the nutritionist was holding her by the upper arms, nails digging into the flesh.  
“Do you have any idea what you have done?” Fields screamed at the woman, who looked frightened at his outburst. The florist shook her head. “We waited for years for that old woman to die so that we could have that spot for our shop, and then you just take over the shop like it is nobody’s business instead of doing the sensible thing and selling the shop to someone else!”  
“What?” asked the florist.  
“We put poisonous spiders into your flower shop and you gave them to the nearest pet shop!” shouted Fields, looking livid. “Nothing was working!”  
“We broke your windows and you made art out of the glass and sold it,” Williams said, “you never left the shop on holidays and have no other family we could target, and you. Just. Refused. To. Die.”  
“You will give us your inheritance and your shop and we will let your friend live,” Fields said, nodding towards Miss Hathaway who was lying on the floor in a heap, a pool of blood around her ankles and head. She was still breathing. “Or we will kill you.”  
Fields stopped talking when he heard Harold’s footsteps, and the gun was taken from his grip by Reese, who threw it across the floor easily. Then Reese stood in front of Williams and took her hands forcefully away from Hills, who stepped away from the other woman right away. Williams looked like she did not know what to do with herself, and did not try to go anywhere close to either Reese or Fields. Instead she stared at Reese.  
John could see Finch kneel next to Hathaway, shaking her shoulder gently to try to wake her up. She did not stir.

“Leave them alone,” Reese said clearly to Fields, who looked at him with disgust and surprise.  
Fields lunged towards Reese, but was easily blocked. When Fields tried to grab at Hills, who had already hurried towards Finch, who was making comforting sounds to Hathaway, who was opening her eyes, and quietly asking her if she was all right, he stumbled. Reese kicked him in the calf, and the other man fell down on the floor.  
“You broke your leg in middle school, on the basketball fields during P.E,” Reese said quietly, “I remember since I had to help carry May Cook, who you pushed into the wall so hard that she got a concussion, to the nurse’s office.”  
“I remember you. You were that kid who was tutored by that nerd.” asked Fields, narrowing his eyes. He glanced at Harold, breathing heavily and trying to stand up. “How does spending all your life smooching nerds feel?”  
Several members of the staff had arrived with worried expressions. They saw Finch on the floor, taking Hathaway’s pulse and speaking gently to Hills, who was weeping and clutching her girlfriend’s hand.

“We were having a private discussion and that man burst into the room and started attacking him,” said Williams, pointing at Reese, who was walking towards Harold. “The fat one has just been over there with those disgusting idiots, talking to them.”  
“The videos say otherwise, Miss Williams,” said the concierge, who nodded at Harold and John, who stood next to each other. “The ambulance is on its way, and so are the police. We do not tolerate threats or violence towards innocent guests, who are staying at our hotel.”  
Two maids took Williams by the shoulders and began dragging her away from the scene, their faces looking grim. The rest of the staff except the concierge left the room, following the two maids and the three footmen who had taken hold of Fields’ arms.  
Hills was patting Harold tearfully on the shoulder and thanking him for his help in a hoarse voice. Harold’s expression was kind, John noted as the pair was led out of the room.  
“Do not worry, ladies and gentlemen,” the concierge continued, „the hotel will make sure that they will get into police custody. You will of course be recompensed for your troubles.”  
Hills nodded absentmindedly and did not tear her eyes away from the woman beside her.  
A few seconds later the EMT came inside the room with a stretcher and carried it out. Hills held Hathaway’s hand in hers as they left.  
The silence was clearly disturbing to the concierge, who turned to look at Finch and Reese.  
“I would like to offer to upgrade your room, sirs,” he said, “for free, of course.”  
Reese looked at Harold, who had blood on his hands and sleeves and was clearly deeply tired. His bad leg was shaking slightly as he stood, leaning on the taller man.  
“It would be nice to get some room service too,” said Reese, “and some of that expensive chocolate cake from the dinner menu would be nice.”  
“Certainly,” the concierge said and Reese could feel him watching them as Finch took John’s arm again when they headed out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

John had decided to start small, when he decided to let Harold in. He would show up at several locations where Harold was at the moment, with a steaming travel mug of Sencha Green tea or one of the pastries Harold favored. These were things that he knew from experience that Harold liked, and would accept gladly.  
John would also offer his arm and pat Harold companionably on the shoulder when Harold had worked something out or they were out walking with Bear. He had never been very good with words, unlike Harold, who could be breathtakingly eloquent. Instead he found himself smiling when his partner looked particularly dapper, and sharing an umbrella with him when it rained.  
There were times that John wished that he could say how Harold had made him better, had made him remember what kindness and trust felt like. Harold had introduced him back to what life was like.  
Now, John had his arm wrapped around Harold’s waist, supporting him as one of the bell hops carried their bags, walking behind them at a respectful distance. There was a long time since they had rested properly, and Harold had been operating on four hours of sleep for months. It was all catching up with him, John thought as he nodded to the bell hop who closed the door behind him when he had placed the luggage down on the floor of the entrance of their new room.  
Their food would be here in about forty minutes, the concierge had told John when the man had been leaving the breakfast room.  
“Thank you, John,” the smaller man said softly after a few seconds, the silence after the door had closed behind the bell hop. His voice was quiet, but not broken or raw, and John considered that a small victory.  
Harold looked gratefully at John as they sat down on the huge, soft sofa after he had stacked some of the firm pillows so that he would be more comfortable. They sat there for a while with their eyes closed, just resting. John put his hand carefully around the back of the sofa and looked at Harold, whose head was now resting on John’s shoulder and breathing deeply. John closed his eyes again, feeling Harold’s chest move as the older man snored slightly, and felt himself drift off.

They woke up to a polite knock on the door and the smell of food. It was John who stood up immediately, on alert. He opened the door to see a maid with their food. John took it with a smile and a nod in thanks.  
The duck soup was warm and they ate it still sitting on the sofa, thighs and shoulders touching. John could hear the small sounds of pleasure Harold made at the back of this throat as he chewed, with Reese’s fingers brushing against his shoulder.  
Harold’s phone made a small sound, and they watched a video of Bear in his service vest, running in circles around Shaw, tail wagging madly. Shaw was sitting in a wheelchair with several bandages around her head and arms, but her eyes were clear and amused as the dog tried to present her with his slobber-covered tennis ball and then to lay down beside her, watching Root talk to the other woman. The entire time they watched the video, Harold did not stop smiling, John noted and felt warm to his toes to see his friend laughing at Bear’s antics.  
A few minutes later, when Harold had sent back a reply, John took the cover off two plates on the second tray, which he had placed on one of the side tables near the door.

The German chocolate cake with dark chocolate frosting was decorated with several strawberries and a small scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.   
When John handed Harold one of the plates along with a silver spoon, Harold looked at his friend and then back at his plate.  
“Are you okay, Harold?” John asked, noticing that Harold’s fingers were resting on his soft middle for a brief moment, “Are you allergic to something in the cake?”  
“No, I am not sure that I should indulge,” Finch replied. His cheeks were red, not the color John was used to seeing when Harold was particularly pleased or flattered which was far pinker. This was what Finch looked like, John realized, when he was ashamed.   
“Because of what that cruel woman said at breakfast?” John asked, gripping the plate tighter.  
“Not exactly,” Harold replied, “I have been trying to eat healthier and walk Bear more. I used to…be fit and some people used to say that I was kind of handsome. My waistline has widened in the last few years, I must admit.”  
John laid his hand on top of Harold’s, which did not flinch away from him.  
“You look very nice to me, Harold, just as you are now,” John said, “you still look very handsome.”  
“That is very kind of you, John,” Harold answered, “thank you.”  
They sat for a while, just enjoying each other’s company. Harold left the plate with the dessert untouched on the sofa table. John made no move to push him to eat it.

After about twenty minutes of sitting quietly beside John as he ate his own piece of cake and kept his hand resting on top of his own hand, Harold began walking stiffly towards the bathroom. John could hear him testing the heat of the water in the faucet of the presumably large bath.  
John went into the bathroom and saw Finch looking around the bathroom for something, and then grabbing some extra towels from one of the shelves. The towels looked softer than any towel John had ever seen, or felt against his skin.  
Harold appeared to be considering how much of the bath salts in the glass jar he was going to use, and then John saw him shrug slightly and pour more than half of the salts along with a great deal of what John assumed was some bubble bath liquid into the huge bathtub. A few white candles were lit around the room, on small metal plates so that they would not drip.  
“Does it help?” Reese asked as Harold turned around to look at him with a slightly surprised expression, “with the pain?”  
“Yes,” Harold said softly, “the hot water relaxes the muscles considerably, and as we are on a case, I do not want to use any of the stronger meds I would usually take. I took one ibuprofen as you slept, but I am afraid that the pain is still-“  
John nodded in understanding. Harold walked towards him, and John saw that he was standing in front of the selection of soft robes. He moved aside, but Harold stopped walking when he was in front of his friend. His feet were bare, and slightly swollen.  
“You can go to sleep, John,” Harold said kindly, “there is no need to watch over me now. We are safe.”

Harold stepped closer to John and placed a hand on John’s upper arm. There was still blood underneath Harold’s fingernails and John was suddenly aware that he probably looked as tired as he felt. He could feel Harold’s hand shaking slightly as they drew even closer together.  
“I thought I’d stick with you,” John blurted out, slowly placing his large hand on Harold’s side, stroking a thumb over the soft fabric of his vest.   
Harold’s expression was both tender and very vulnerable.   
“You can join me, if you would like,” Harold offered, looking into John’s eyes.   
The taller man found himself at a loss for words, so he settled for nodding and caressing Harold’s side before starting to unbutton his vest. He guided the buttons out of the holes slowly, leisurely and gently, at a pace that Harold could stop whenever he wished, for any reason whatsoever.  
Finch unbuttoned John’s shirt with fumbling hands, as he was not sure if this was reality or not. John could feel the heat of Harold’s skin underneath his shirt as his own new shirt was tugged out of his pants with fingers that were not nearly as calloused as his own.  
Harold stroked Reese’s jaw gently as he removed his shirt and then began folding it. John removed his own undershirt as there was no way that Harold could reach that high himself, and saw that Finch had already started unbuttoning the pants, which pooled at John’s ankles in a few seconds. John loosened Harold’s belt and sat down on the edge of the tub to take off his socks. The shorter man put his glasses beside the soap container near the sink and turned around to look at John, the tips of his ears faintly pink.

Harold moved to the bathtub, clad only in his underwear and turned off the water, testing how warm it was and clearly finding it acceptable. The underwear was removed, thrown into the dirty laundry basket to the side. The shorter man stepped into the bathtub and let himself sink into the hot water. John could see his friend’s expression of pure bliss. He waited until Harold was securely holding onto the rim of the tub and stepped into the bath himself.  
The combination of the bath salts and bubbles smelled like vanilla and fresh blueberries, John mused as he sat down in the water. His legs brushed against Harold’s legs, and John could feel the scar tissue on his partner’s thighs.  
The water was as hot as possible without being scalding, John thought as he lowered his head so that the water came almost to his chin. He could feel some of the pain in his shoulders melt away.  
Harold’s eyes were closed and John could see that every muscle in his body was as relaxed as possible. It was a strange feeling, seeing Harold so exposed, even though the bubbles hid his body from sight and John had seen him without his glasses before, there was something in the other man’s expression John had never seen so clearly before. It took John a while to identify Harold’s expression as peaceful. But there was still pain in his eyes, and the lines around his mouth showed that the water had done some good, but not as much as was needed.

“Let me help,” John said, touching Harold’s shoulder gently.  
Harold looked at him with a question in his eyes, not wary, but curious. Then he looked at the cream colored loofah that was on a shelf above John’s head. John shook his head and began rubbing in faint circles on Harold’s shoulder. Understanding dawned in Harold’s eyes.  
“It is quite all right, John,” Harold replied, “I can manage. I am sure that the pain will fade more when I wake up in the morning.”  
“Well, this is more efficient, and I do not like to see someone I care about in pain if there is anything I can do about it.”  
The hand stayed on Harold’s shoulder for some time, easing a small knot near Harold’s neck.  
Harold nodded and began moving so that his back would face John. It took some maneuvering, John’s hands steady on Harold’s hip and stomach, to get him to the position that would be the least painful, but they managed.  
After the waves in the bathtub had stopped and John no longer had his hand on Harold’s soft middle to steady him, the taller man moved his hands to Harold’s shoulders. His fingers traced the deep scars and pushed into the muscles, testing where the pain was the worst.  
John dug his thumbs into the muscles of Harold’s shoulders, kneading away with strong strokes as the man gave a sigh. He massaged the knots near the spine gently and listened to Harold’s breathing hitch as he found a particularly large knot. He waited until Harold had resumed breathing normally and then moved his hands over Harold’s lower back, carefully rubbing away the tension.  
Lastly, John slowly massaged Harold’s neck, feeling the metal beneath the skin. Then he rested his arms on his friend’s shoulders, completely still, and the other man covered his left hand with his own.

After a few minutes Harold stepped out of the bathtub, his feet steady on the cream colored bathmat and selected two towels for himself. The first one was wrapped around his hips, and the second he used to dry himself off.  
John watched him, at the ease of movement in comparison to just an hour before, at the bright flush of his neck and chest. Harold smiled at him, and John stretched luxuriously in the hot water. As Harold shaved and brushed his hair, John stared at the rubber duck on one of the shelves near the sink and enjoyed the warmth. Eventually drained the bath and put a towel around his hips. He was drying his hair when he saw that Finch had already put on his striped pajamas and was sitting on the bed, looking patient.  
John began walking towards him, as hope began fluttering its wings in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to health reasons, I will be absent for some time. This is the last update I will make in perhaps two months.


	5. Chapter 5

There were striped, colorful socks on the chair beside the bed, John thought as he sat down on the bed beside Harold, who did not scoot away from him or even blink. The socks were for him, he knew, just like the neatly pressed shirt and dark grey pants. He had not worn colorful socks, John thought, since he was around eleven years old, after what his parents had called ‘the incident with the other boy’. His colorful socks had suddenly disappeared from his sock drawer and been replaced by black and grey cotton socks along with a few thick, white sport socks he had to own to be able to wear his basketball shoes comfortably when he practiced with the team.  
He had shaved carefully and put some of the cream which had been in a small jar on the edge of the sink on his face, which had a soothing effect on his skin. John rubbed it into the skin, closing his eyes as he had listened to Finch potter around in the other room.

They had lived without any kind of luxury for some time now, and a part of John was always surprised that he could have any of this.

Harold was only half-dressed by his own standards, his shirt was unbuttoned and he was cleaning his glasses. It was strange to see him like this, not wearing the full three piece suit or some sort of clothes that would indicate that he was undercover.  
“As it appears that our work here is done, I have something of a surprise for you,” Harold said, keeping his eyes firmly on the wall while John put on his boxers and continued drying off.  
“Is it a good surprise?” John asked, his voice muffled by the towel as he dried his face.  
“Hm,” Harold mused, buttoning his shirt absentmindedly, “you mentioned earlier that you would like to spend the period after our mission with me. I would understand, however , if you would seek out Miss Campell instead. It would be a simpler, safer life with the possibility of starting a family…something I could never give you.”  
John was silent for a short moment.  
“No,” John said, and there was a strange note in his voice, “Iris was…a kind of a dream. I’ve never been good at having a normal life, and she was everything I was supposed to want. But I am so used to this life and everything that goes with it, saving people and spending time with the team.”  
Harold felt the taller man sit down beside him on the bed.  
“She could never know everything about me, she could never see me in my darkest moments because it would be too dangerous. And even though I understand that I’ve gotten better, there is no one that could fix who and what I am. You know everything about me, down to the core, and you still want me around,” John continued, “after all this time, you still want to stay with me.”  
Harold moved his hand over John’s own, and felt John lean against him, wrapping an arm around him, seeking support. They sat there for a long time, just breathing and gradually holding hands as carefully as possible until their palms were equally warm. Harold’s eyes were slightly shiny and endlessly kind and caring when he stood up and looked at John.  
“Come with me, then, there is something I want to show you,” the older man said as he pulled on a burgundy waistcoat. If Harold’s fingers lingered on John’s collar as he brushed off imaginary lint, John did not mention it or bat him away. John zipped their bags closed as Harold brushed his hair for the last time, carefully arranging it. There was a patch of hair missing from his crown, John thought as Harold walked in front of him in the hall, the years having their effect. It did not matter, it was a strange thing for someone like Harold, who took such care in his appearance with his bespoke suits and good shaving habits, to let this be. He suspected that Harold dyed his hair and had it done at salons, but he had always thought it was something that he did so that his covers would all stay in a fixed age bracket that could be widened at will.   
They walked down to the lobby with their bags, and John was on his way to the door when the concierge stopped them both.  
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said the man, his tone polite,“ it appears that the two criminals that caused the disturbance earlier have also been charged with several other crimes, most notably two hate crimes and a burglary. We want to thank you for your assistance in keeping the hotel’s reputation high and will make sure that whenever you visit the hotel you shall get the best treatment we can give you.”  
“We should recommend this place to our friends, Harold,” John said as the older man nodded at the concierge and thanked him.”I’m sure that Shaw would like this place.”  
They walked side by side for a while, arm in arm as Reese dragged one bag behind him and Harold held the lighter one. At first he did not think of where they were going, as he enjoyed spending time with Harold, who looked like he was in a good mood, talking about buying a new ball for Bear and asking Reese if he wanted to join them both in the dog park later on.

Then the library came into view.  
It did not look like much to the outside observer, the windows broken and the walls rather dirty. But Reese felt something in his heart slot into place. It was as if a familiar song had started playing, calm and cool like a fresh breeze after a humid, scorching hot desert walk.  
There were dozens of cardboard boxes at the door.  
He looked at Finch, who stood beside him, where he belonged, and smiled at him. The smile was wide and his eyes were glimmering. Finch, clad in his fine suits and his glasses clean and smelling like green tea and home. The man who strode though his dreams like he was his king, which of course, he was.   
Harold produced a key ring and opened the door that Reese knew by heart. It made a satisfying click. John left their bags near the door of the entrance and carried the heavy cardboard boxes inside.  
They walked through the familiar corridors, shoulders brushing. When they reached the stairs Harold offered Reese his hand. The older man looked up the stone stairs and at the scattered books that littered them with a small frown. Then he looked straight into John’s eyes, eyes brimming with hope.  
John took his hand.

There was a lot of broken glass on the floor, and the computer monitors were broken beyond repair, John mused. He watched as Harold leaned on his old desk, looking at the whole keyboard and inside some of the cupboards.  
While the coffee and tea was brewing John found a large black plastic bag in one of the closets along with a large broom and a dustpan. He began sweeping up the broken glass and dumping it into the plastic bag while Finch picked up books and put them back. John made several trips to the dumpster behind the building, throwing out the broken monitors, bags of trash and broken glass.  
There was a strange harmony to these tasks, John thought as he put the last of the glass he could sweep up into the dustpan. He would have to find a vacuum cleaner. Meanwhile, Finch had put some of the cardboard boxes on the desk, which was now clean and dusted, the broken computer monitors gone.  
Gleaming new computer equipment, fresh from the boxes was now on the desk. John continued to clean as Harold put several new monitors in place, along with a flight simulator, several notebooks, and a jar of pens and pencils. John carried up a huge box containing, it turned out a printer/scanner/copier/fax machine which was placed in the corner on the floor.  
Harold looked in his element, inspecting every new piece of equipment and testing it out. John found some of his old guns still stashed in their hiding places, as well as a small radio. He turned it on, put the volume dial on a low setting and looked up to see Harold smiling at him.  
“Welcome home, John,” Harold said warmly, and John found himself walking towards the other man. The air still smelled like dusty books and tea, and the sun was shining brightly outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. I am feeling better, though I still have some days that are bad. But I am recovering well. I hope you like this chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

John Reese woke up in his luxurious loft apartment, the first rays of the sun beginning to light up the space. He has always been an early riser, ever since he was a small child. The faint sounds of the city waking up and Bear running in his sleep on the dog bed near his own bed convinced John that it was really morning. It was wonderful to walk in his bare feet across hardwood floors and being able to cook breakfast without having to worry about the neighbors talking about how he could afford to make pancakes with blueberries, cinnamon and sour cream on a Tuesday on a cop’s salary.

It was not until after his habitual morning run with Bear, as well as a long hot shower that John finally understood all the little things he no longer had to worry about with Samaritan gone for good. He opened the closet, thinking about all the suits he had ruined while working as Detective Riley, and in the course of his work. Split pants and torn and bloodied shirts and jackets. He‘d even ruined shoes by running too much in them. He’d known for years that dress shoes were not suitable for running. That had been one of the strange lessons of being a spy.

Instead of seeing the rack of black suits he had become used to when undercover, he saw several Finch-tailored new suits in black and one in dark grey. His tux and the suits he had gotten in Rome also hung there. At least twelve white shirts hung there, along with four dark grey shirts and a variety of striped shirts and two T-shirts, two sizes two big. Some of the pants had a bit of elastic in the lining, which Reese appreciated, as it made running and fighting easier. He knew that he would also be eating better as he could now afford it now, so that was a bonus.

The T-shirts were probably there in case he got injured and needed to recuperate at home. In the drawers were jeans, folded neatly, several undershirts, a heap of striped socks in all kinds of colors and as well as some black dress socks. In the last drawer there were boxers. He‘d never seen most these clothes before in his life. Finch had picked them all out and put them in his closet, he realized, for him to find. There were soft towels and blankets on top of the closet in a woven basket, and all this made Reese feel very comfortable. He listened to Bear run around the apartment, playing with one of this toys and drinking fresh water from his water bowl.

John got dressed, feeling content. Finally he buttoned his jacket and looked at Bear, who had his leash in his mouth, clearly ready to go to work. Reese fastened the leash with practiced hands and gave the dog a small treat for behaving so well.  
Reese stood in line at the doughnut shop that made the doughnuts both he and Harold liked best. Then he strode towards the small beverage cart where he had bought Finch‘s Sencha Green tea when he had started out working for him. The employees smiled at him with vague reconition, and he waved at them in a friendly manner. He didn’t avoid the security cameras, even though his heart jumped a bit when one focused on him.  
“Just like old times, right?” he muttered as he put in the earpiece and looked into the camera near the Library. The red light went off and on, and John nodded and kept going.

Walking up the steps of the Library with a box of pasty and two steaming cups, one coffee and one tea made Reese feel strangely nostalgic, and he could not help smiling when he saw Harold sitting at his work station, typing away. There was just something so right about seeing Harold there, in his chair and surrounded by monitors and books.  
They were really back, John thought, as he glanced aside and saw that Finch had restocked their kitchen with fruit, several bags of coffee, and boxes of tea and energy bars. There were chocolate bars on the counter along with a large glass cookie jar, filled with several kinds of cookies. John smiled, imagining Harold picking up the packets of cookies and putting them in the cart as he walked the aisles of a large 24 hour supermarket.

The Library‘s windows were still grimy and closed, but everything was neatly organized, and there was a new glass board up as well as a new soft-looking dog bed for Bear on the floor beside Harold‘s desk. Bear ran towards it and smelled it before flopping down with a loud sigh after greeting Harold. Harold patted the dog, who looked lovingly at him before dozing off.  
“Good morning, Mr. Reese,“ Finch said, eyes gleaming when Reese handed him the steaming cup of tea. Harold was smiling brightly, and wearing his mustard colored waistcoat, a sure sign of his comfort. John leaned down, kissing Harold lightly on the lips. Harold kissed him back tenderly before pulling away, his hand on John‘s cheek.

”It‘s good to be back,“ John said, looking pleased and gestured around the Library.. He put down the box, feeling Harold’s fingers caressing his shoulder. Harold stood up, looking into John’s eyes, looking so tenderly at him that John felt a lump in his throat. They kissed again, John hand gently caressing Harold’s side while Harold held him close. Harold didn’t pull away when John’s thumb stroked over his soft stomach, admittedly covered by a shirt and a very nice waistcoat. They stood there for a while, bathed in sunlight and cocooned in silence, leaning their foreheads together.  
“Yes,“ Harold replied, “it truly is.”

John watched Harold straightening up and walking over to the glass board, looking slightly dazed. He seemed to pull himself together, straightening his glasses. John followed him, noticing the small photograph on the glass board.  
“We have a new Number...“ Harold said and turned to look at his partner, who nodded and listened to his explanations. They would always have enough work, John thought as Harold walked around the Library, talking about going undercover together at a large security company. It was going to be a good day.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. I hope you have enjoyed this fic. Please leave a comment if you have. :)


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